


A Burden Shared

by AstroGirl



Category: Farscape
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stark and Crichton in the Gammak Base cell. Slightly AU from "The Hidden Memory," as I've left them in there longer than canon did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Burden Shared

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to kernezelda and vilakins for doing the beta thing.

There are two of them now, in the Chair. It takes them in turns, tearing and spinning, day after grey, lightless day, then it spits them back into their cell, together.

Stark's admiration for the human grows with every session. No one else has lasted this long; the others all gave up their secrets quickly, or died, or both. All of them but Stark and this new creature, this Crichton, who will not break in the place that Scorpius wants him to.

It disturbs him, though, to know that perhaps this strength is not entirely Crichton's, that perhaps it's also the strength of the ones who placed the block in his brain. Stark doesn't wish to admire _them_, those Scorpys-in-reverse, trespassing on another being's mind, adding things and walling them up, as if they had the right.

He says this to Crichton once, when the guards deposit the human in their cell after a session, bleeding from his eyes and screaming inside almost loud enough for Stark to hear. Crichton likes to listen to him talk, especially after he's been in the Chair. He says it reminds him that the rest of the world is there, that the universe that exists outside his mind and Scorpy's hasn't forgotten him. So Stark talks as he helps him lie down: about the thoughts he's had, about the kind of strength he admires, about the kind of people he doesn't. Crichton gurgles a weak laugh, and frothy fluid trickles from his mouth. Stark dabs it with his sleeve and adjusts Crichton's head to rest against his thigh, the only real place of softness in their cell.

"Not mine," Crichton says. "Not my strength. Theirs, yeah. And yours. Not mine."

"No," says Stark. Whatever doubts he has about the things that lie in Crichton's mind, he is sure, at least, of this. "Yours, too." He lifts his mask. "I can feel it."

And he can, as his energy falls on Crichton in caressing waves of light. He can feel the contours of Crichton's soul: strength and vulnerability and hope... and other things, qualities he only dimly senses, qualities too complex to have names. Every time they do this, he feels a little more, learns a little more. He knows by now the places where the pain is worst, and the quickest ways to soothe it. It takes only a moment before the human's body relaxes and his breathing grows easier.

"There," Stark says, as he always does, a comforting ritual they've evolved between them. "There. That's better." His fingers move gently through Crichton's sweat-soaked hair.

"Thanks, buddy," says Crichton, and that's part of the ritual, too, though the words may vary and he isn't always able to say them aloud. "Really don't know where I'd be without your help."

Stark is quiet for a moment. Then, "'A burden shared is a burden halved,'" he says quietly. "You said that to me, one of the first times. Do you remember?"

Crichton shakes his head a little, not enough to break the connection between them. Stark isn't surprised; the Chair does things to thought and to memory, even his. "Sounds like something I'd say, though. I'm practically a walking encyclopedia of Earth clichés. People are always complaining about it."

"_I _remember," Stark says. He's carefully kept the words in a calm place in his memory where he can find them, because he likes the way they sound and feel inside his head. "It's a good saying. It's true."

"Yeah, well. It hardly seems fair." Crichton shifts a little against Stark's knee. "I get to lay all my pain on you, and what do you get? Nothin' but my problems on top of yours."

"It's not like that," Stark says, but he finds that he lacks the words to say exactly what it _is_ like. "Would you like me to show you?" he asks softly. He's showed Crichton things before, soothing images and calming thoughts, but this is something different, and it requires him to ask.

Crichton nods. So Stark shows him. Shows him what his own soul looks like from the outside: bright and shimmering and beautiful, despite its collection of scars. Shows him what it feels like to touch him this way, the gentle feeling of smoothing out his pain and sending it rippling outward, dissolving into the universe until the surface of his mind is as still as clear water, calm and soothing to a Stykera's gaze. True, there are dim and hidden things moving beneath that surface, but Stark is familiar with those. He has them as well, darker and more numerous than Crichton's, and seeing them in another makes him feel a little more normal, a little less alone. He shares this with Crichton too, together with the warm, anchored feeling of touching another being, of knowing that there is life, and strength, and light outside himself. "There," he says, his whispered voice echoing to fill the emptiness of the cell. "There. Do you see? _A burden halved._ It's true for me, as well."

"Yeah." Crichton's voice cracks a little, and his tongue darts out to lick at desiccated lips. "Yeah. I see." There is moisture in his eyes: clear and soft, not the blood-tinged tears the Chair elicits from him.

Stark says nothing. There is nothing more that needs to be said. Slowly, he replaces his mask, and the bridge of energy between them breaks off gently, the feeling of it lingering on like the warmth of a physical touch.

"When we get out of here," Crichton says, eventually, "there's a friend of mine you've _really_ got to meet."

"When we do," Stark replies, the simple act of saying the words calling up a surge of hope inside him, "I will be honored to meet anyone you call a friend."

Crichton smiles a little and reaches up to clasp Stark's hand. Stark grips it, twining his fingers through Crichton's, and watches as the human's eyes slide closed, his breathing slowing into the rhythms of sleep.

And for a little while, there is peace.


End file.
